


Here With You

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mistletoe, Modern AU, Thilbo, Thorin's an emotional mess, Tolkien Secret Santa 2016, bagginshield, honestly, modern AU with hobbits and dwarves, neighbours who have a crush on each other, seasonal fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:43:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8942362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: Thorin and Bilbo have been neighbours for quite a while. As both of them will spend their Christmas evening alone, Thorin thinks it would be a good opportunity to get to know Bilbo better. And they will spend the evening together, but not in the way they expect ...Written for the Tolkien Secret Santa 2016 on tumblr, for Sansael (@stevecarrot).





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sansael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansael/gifts).



> Written for the Tolkien Secret Santa 2016 on tumblr, for Sansael/@stevecarrot. I hope you like this little gift :)  
> I wish you all a Merry Christmas, however you celebrate it :)

It was Christmas, and Thorin Durin tried not to scowl.

It should have been a day off, and now he had been called to work nonetheless. An emergency, his boss had said. Emergency. What emergency could there be at a jewellery store?

Well, obviously one that couldn’t wait until after the holidays. Thorin hadn’t seen the agitated customer; he had sat in his workshop in the back of the shop, hidden from the customer’s gazes as usual, and had meticulously polished the gems although his experienced eyes hadn’t noticed even the smallest fissure. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t complain, though. Being called to work unexpectedly and on a holiday at that only meant more money. And that was the reason why he had come to the Shire at all.

No piece of jewellery, be it a simple copper bracelet or an intricate necklace made of diamonds, was as highly esteemed as the ornaments crafted by dwarves. People – hobbits, men, and even elves – muttered that the dwarves didn’t work metals, but sang to them until gold and silver bent to their will, and sapphires and emeralds and rubies melted and could be formed as easily as clay. That was nonsense, of course. However, it could not be denied that the dwarves were jealous of the secrets of their craftsmanship. Very few were willing to leave their homes in the mountain regions to work abroad, and those few were thus paid extraordinarily well.

That had been enough incentive for Thorin to try his luck. He wouldn’t tell any of his folk’s secrets, of course, but he was willing to sit in a human’s workshop and create rings, necklaces, ear rings, in short: whatever was asked of him. His skill was without equal, and he earned well enough to send money to his sister. Dís would have never asked him for help, but – a widow with two young children – she couldn’t deny that she was grateful for financial support, even if it meant that Thorin had to leave the Blue Mountains to live amongst strangers.

He had been in the Shire for ten months now – ten months in which he hadn’t seen his family, and this was the first Christmas he wouldn’t spend with them. Thorin had called them via video chat in the morning, and both Fíli and Kíli had been heartbroken that their uncle wasn’t with them. That was, until Dís had appeared with parcels Thorin had sent his nephews; the tearing of the fancy paper alone would have cheered them up significantly, not to mention the wooden toys their uncle had got them for Christmas. Their joyful laughs were reason enough for Thorin not to regret his decision to live and work amongst the men and hobbits of the Shire.

Well … At least one reason.

The other reason appeared when Thorin entered the five-storey tenement where he lived. A familiar voice made him turn around, and he saw a small figure, carrying some parcels, coming closer.

“Hold the door open, please!”

Thorin did so and was rewarded with a bright smile.

“Thank you, neighbour.”

Bilbo Baggins was a hobbit, a librarian, and cute as a button. Thorin had known that he was special the moment he had first laid eyes on him: a curly-haired hobbit standing before his door and welcoming him to the neighbourhood with a cheerful smile and freshly baked brownies. Thorin had hardly unpacked back then, and they had shared the pastries, sitting on the moving boxes amidst the chaos of his new apartment.

Truth be told, Thorin didn’t consider himself a good choice for cosy get-togethers. He wasn’t very social or even eloquent. However, a friendship had blossomed between him and Bilbo these last ten months. They didn’t spent much time together, he thought, but they chatted whenever they met on the way to or from work, at the letterbox, or in the garden. They very seldom talked for long, but Thorin always got the feeling that he had learned something new about Bilbo. It felt … right when they met and talked. Meeting Bilbo always was like feeling the sunshine on one’s face after a week full of dark clouds and heavy rain.

Eventually Thorin had found himself thinking that his neighbour was special indeed. He was smart, sincere, and very, very endearing. Just like now: The snowflakes in his hair had melted to shiny drops, his cheeks were flushed from the cold, and the red coat looked marvellous on him. Usually he went barefoot, but today he wore boots against the cold. They looked quite big on his feet – which were quite big as well –, but that only added to his charm.

“I thought you would visit your family”, Thorin remarked as they made their way up to the second floor.

“Oh, I did visit them”, Bilbo answered. “But it’s Primula’s and Drogo’s first Christmas with Frodo – their first Christmas as a little family, you see. I think they need this evening for themselves, and I would only be the fifth wheel. So it was a short visit, and I’ll have the rest of the day for myself. A quiet Christmas with some nice food and mulled wine … sounds not too bad, don’t you agree?”

Thorin nodded. The plans for his evening sounded similar.

They reached their doors, and Thorin took Bilbo’s parcels so the hobbit could look for his keys. “By the by”, he asked, “have you talked to your family already? Did Fíli and Kíli get their toys?”

The dwarf smiled softly at the memory. “They did. And they loved them! I think they will even forget about my absence because they’re busy playing with their new treasures.”

Bilbo shook his head slightly as if he didn’t agree, but said nothing. He unlocked the door and turned to receive his parcels again. “Thank you. And, Thorin … Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Bilbo”, he replied with a smile and watched as the hobbit entered his flat. The green door closed behind him, and Thorin suddenly realized that he had never been in Bilbo’s flat before. He had never wondered about that so far, but he would love to see how Bilbo lived, and thus get to know him better.

Maybe … maybe today was a good day to do so. It was Christmas, after all. Both of them would spend the evening alone otherwise, and he could casually drop by without seeming too curious. Or bothersome. If Bilbo would appreciate a gift? Perhaps the pendant …

Thorin’s face heated at the sole thought. Hidden in one of the drawers in his bedroom, there was a little box with a cushion of velvet, and on this cushion rested a pendant that certainly left the impression that Thorin was utterly smitten … probably because he _was_ utterly smitten. It was an oak leaf, covered with a thin layer of copper.

This kind of jewellery had been highly coveted in autumn. Thorin had never crafted something like it before, and it had been a laborious task for him to accomplish it. He had had to work with dry leaves, and the task of removing the main part of the leaf until only the skeleton was left had proved difficult for his usually clever hands. Many leaves had crumbled under his fingers before he had been able to coat them with metal, and he had felt clumsy as if it had been his first day in a workshop.

But this oak leaf was the first he had managed to turn into a pendant, now shimmering in different shades of red and gold. And yet it had not been put into the jeweller’s display. It was his first piece, after all, too small to attract any buyer, and considered to be more of a trial.

But to Thorin it was beautiful beyond description, more beautiful than all the other leaves he had coated with copper and silver and gold that autumn, and he had kept it. _Bilbo might appreciate it_ , he had thought as he had twisted the pendant between his fingers, marvelling at the rich colour, noticing that it would perfectly match the hobbit’s hair and eyes.

But no. That would definitely be too much. _Bothersome_ , he thought. He shouldn’t get carried away like that. Instead he should start with an innocuous gift. A bottle of wine, perhaps? That would do.

Thorin nodded determinedly. But he couldn’t celebrate Christmas with his neighbour in his work clothes, so he went into his own flat at first … and started making a complete fool out of himself.

He wasn’t a love-struck teen, and yet he managed to turn something as simple as taking a shower into an awkward affair. It was a shame, but choosing a shower gel almost checkmated him because he couldn’t help wondering if Bilbo would prefer the scent of sandalwood, or rather bergamot. Or maybe mint? He tried to recall if Bilbo had ever made a comment on his scent only to declare himself a fool the next moment. What in Mahal’s name made him think that Bilbo could have ever said such a thing like “Oh Thorin, you smell really good today”? Honestly, what was he thinking? But … It would be lovely to hear such words, wouldn’t it? To feel Bilbo’s cute nose pressed against his neck and tickling his skin while the hobbit inhaled his scent …

Thorin emerged from his fancies with a snarl, grabbed the nearest bottle of shower gel and thus put an end to that tiresome matter. Sandalwood would have to do. Stop, full stop, finish!

As Thorin stood in front of his wardrobe shortly afterwards he faced the next ravelled problem: What should he wear? It was Christmas, so something more festive might be a good idea. But would a traditional dwarven tunic be appropriate? Or maybe pants and a shirt, garments that many people here in the Shire, men as well as hobbits, wore? He had never made much ado about his clothes, and now he wished he had listened to his sister whenever she had told him that he shouldn’t run around in rags and tatters, all their financial problems aside.

Thorin solved this problem – after some considerable time, granted – by choosing simple garments, but in the traditional colours of his family: light grey pants with a rune pattern, and a shirt in midnight blue. He also decided for a silver vest to add a festive touch.

While he was buttoning his shirt, he already pondered about his hair. Most of the time he wore it tied back into a ponytail or a braid for practical reasons. He thought that Bilbo had never seen him with loose hair. Special braids, however, would be appropriate for a holiday, and –

His musings were interrupted by a loud bang.

The noise had come from the flat next to his … Bilbo’s flat. Thorin stared at the wall for a moment. They were rather thick; usually he didn’t hear anything that happened in his neighbour’s home. It must have been quite a noise to reach even Thorin’s ears. Something about that arose his uneasiness; it made him forget the wine bottles and scents and clothes. He hurried out of his flat and knocked at Bilbo’s green door.

He received no answer, so he tried opening it. It was unlocked, but Thorin hesitated. Maybe he was attaching too much importance to that noise. Perhaps a chair had fallen over, nothing more, and he would rush into Bilbo’s home unrequested and like an overanxious clucking hen at that.

“Bilbo?”, he called into the flat.

There was no answer, so he decided to enter nonetheless. It was comfortably warm, and Thorin at once noticed the bright yet unobtrusive colours. It smelled … well, like Christmas: gingerbread, cloves, and oranges. He was still in the entrance area, and yet he felt as if he had been given a very warm welcome. It was a strong contrast to his own rather purposefully furnished home.

Thorin moved on, but the first door he opened only led into a well-filled pantry. He proceeded into the kitchen, a rustic, charming room. Pots and pans and bowls covered the kitchen counter, probably containing what Bilbo had called “some nice food” earlier. The scent of cloves was the strongest in here, but it didn’t arise from mulled wine or Christmas cookies. Instead, a cupboard was open, and the bag had fallen out, letting its content loose. So had a package of flour that was spread on the counter and parts of the floor like Christmas decoration, covering everything with a white blanket. Amidst the white powder was a stool; it had obviously fallen over.

Thorin’s mind observed all these details calmly, confirming that his first suspicion about the loud bang had been right. It also stayed calm – strangely calm, as if it had been frozen – as his eyes fell on Bilbo.

The hobbit lay motionless on the floor. He looked very small, even fragile; the flour stains on his clothes and his pale face contrasted sharply with the crimson trickle on his temple. Thorin felt an unsettling cold. Although he perceived the single features of this situation clearly, he had trouble to put them together. It took him painfully long to form one word in his thoughts: _Blood._ He took even longer to grasp what that meant. _Bilbo is hurt._

That realization finally tore him out of his numbness, and he rushed forward to kneel down at Bilbo’s side. He reached out for him, but hesitated, afraid that he might hurt him. “Bilbo?”, he asked as quietly as he could despite his anxiety. Suddenly his heart was racing as if it had to make up for the strange moments of daze before.

But he received no answer. Thorin’s prime concern was to take his neighbour somewhere he would rest comfortably and where he could nurse him. He wrapped one arm around the hobbit’s shoulders and one around his waist and lifted him up with the utmost care.

As Thorin rose, Bilbo stirred; he muttered inaudibly, and his fingers felt for something to hold on to. They finally found something and clung weakly to Thorin’s shirt.

“Don’t worry, Bilbo. It’s me, Thorin. I’m here. I’m here for you.” Thorin tried to soothe the hobbit by mumbling such vanities. With success: Bilbo gave a little sigh as he rested his head on Thorin’s chest, and he stayed quiet as the dwarf carried him in his arms out of the kitchen, through the living room and into the bedroom. He carefully put him down onto the bed, but Bilbo made no move to let go of him; his hands were now wrapped around Thorin’s neck. Thorin, although worried, gave them a reassuring squeeze.

Without taking his eyes off Bilbo, he reached for the night table and grabbed a handkerchief. He had meant to press it gently to the wound to stop the bleeding. However, Bilbo grimaced at the slight touch, and his eyelids began to flutter.

“Thorin …?”, he asked wearily.

“I’m here, Bilbo.”

“What …” Bilbo tried to turn his head, but the mere attempt ended with a sharp hiss.

“Lay still. You are hurt; I should call a doctor –“

Bilbo opened his eyes suddenly, and Thorin was taken aback by the fear he saw in them. “Please, no”, he panted. “No doctor. I-I don’t want to- to spend Christmas in hospital. It’s even sadder than being alone … Please, Thorin. Don’t do this to me.”

Thorin didn’t feel comfortable to make such a promise – after all, Bilbo was _hurt_. But he also couldn’t bring himself to tell Bilbo so. Instead, he softly said: “Your wound has to be treated. Do you have a first aid box?”

The hobbit nodded and flinched at the movement. “Bathroom”, he muttered, hardly able to keep his eyes open any longer. The strength with which he had uttered his plea was gone, and now he deemed Thorin paler than before.

Thorin gently removed the arms around his neck. “I’ll be back in a second”, he promised and hurried to get the first aid box. Although he got lost once – he suddenly found himself in the dining room – he was back at the hobbit’s side in no time.

A tiny smile appeared on Bilbo’s face as he heard Thorin sitting down on the edge of the bed. He kept his eyes closed, but felt for Thorin’s hand to intertwine their fingers. That made rummaging about the first aid box a bit difficult, but he managed to find and open the bottle of antiseptic nonetheless.

“I’ll start cleaning your injury”, he forewarned.

Bilbo mumbled an assurance that it was okay. He inhaled sharply, though, as soon as the cotton wool with the antiseptic touched his skin. His brow furrowed, and he turned his head away reflexively. The sudden movement of his head only made him whimper.

Thorin did his best to treat him as gingerly as possible. All the while he stroked his hand soothingly and whispered reassuring words. They passed his lips much easier when he saw that Bilbo was not badly injured and the wound didn’t have to be stitched. He still would have preferred to call a doctor just to make sure, but the thought vanished again as he remembered the hobbit’s voice when he had asked him not to do so. _It’s even sadder than being alone._ Bilbo had seemed cheerful before, but now he had sounded so sorrowful …

“I’m here” he soothed once more, just to let Bilbo know, and he thought that he received another small smile in return. Or maybe he was overinterpreting things, and his neighbour was just glad that Thorin finally put the antiseptic away.

Still with only one spare hand, the dwarf opened a tin with ointment. As he bent forward and put it on Bilbo’s temple, the hobbit sniffed audibly.

“What a nice smell”, he muttered.

“Some herbs”, Thorin replied, eyes focused on his task.

“No, not that”, Bilbo dissented drowsily. “I think it’s … sandalwood?”

In that moment, Thorin was grateful that the hobbit had his eyes closed so he couldn’t see him blushing. “You’re imagining things”, he stammered bashfully and distracted himself by applying a bandage around Bilbo’s head. He almost nuzzled the golden-brown curls while fastening it at the back of the hobbit’s head. It was an exciting sensation …

… but it wasn’t as exciting as the sensation of a nose suddenly being pressed against his neck. “I don’t think so”, Bilbo said, and feeling his breath brushing over Thorin’s skin made it tingle in a most thrilling way. He couldn’t resist inclining his head so that he _did_ nuzzle the golden-brown curls, and he dared to incline his head even more until his lips grazed them. The feeling made his lips prickle and his heart cheer. Thorin closed his eyes to savour all that was Bilbo: his indescribable scent, his warmth, his calm breathing …

With a low chuckle Thorin realized that it was the calm breathing of a sleeping hobbit he was listening to. He gave Bilbo a gentle kiss on the forehead and tucked him in. He could have stayed like this forever – sitting at Bilbo’s side, watching him sleep, and the taste of his skin still blooming on his lips.

However, he wouldn’t be much help if he kept staring at him like that. After all, the kitchen was still covered with flour and cloves. So Thorin tore himself away from the lovely sight to clean up. It took him a while to find dustpan and broom, but the work was soon done. After the mess was removed, Thorin peeped into one of the pots. It contained a thick, creamy vegetable soup, and the dwarf decided that he would warm it over later; Bilbo would certainly need and appreciate something warm and nourishing.

When Thorin turned away from the pot, Bilbo stood in the doorway.

Actually, “stood” was an exaggeration: He leaned against the doorframe, face pale and chest heaving with the effort to get there. The bandage around his head was clean, but he seemed so fragile that Thorin’s heart skipped a beat.

“Bilbo!”, he exclaimed and hurried to the hobbit’s side to support him. “Why are you up? You should rest.” His neighbour leaned heavily against him. He didn’t protest as Thorin led him a few steps back into the living room and ushered him into an armchair, right next a Christmas tree decorated in red and gold. It took Bilbo some moments to catch his breath, and Thorin watched him anxiously.

When he finally spoke, it was in a quiet voice, and the dwarf bent forward until he supported himself on the armrest.

“I had to see”, Bilbo whispered, “that you are here, and that it wasn’t just a dream. I had to see you with my own eyes …” He sighed, and a soft yet sad smile appeared on his face. “I thought I could invite you, you see? Prepare the food, and then ask you to celebrate Christmas with me … But I messed up, and now you have to treat me. I’m so sorry. That’s certainly not how you wanted to spend Christmas …”

“Bilbo”, Thorin interrupted softly and reached for his uninjured temple to stroke it. The hobbit’s eyes widened at this caress; he looked so surprised that Thorin couldn’t help chuckling. “I could have done without the blood”, he said while leaning forward, “but apart from that I’m right where I want to be.” He was so close that he could hear the tiny gasp Bilbo uttered – it didn’t sound concerned, but … excited? If that could mean … If Thorin might hope …

But Thorin had gone too far to waste more time with mere hoping; he bridged the last gap between them by pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

A part of him was afraid that Bilbo would push him away, that what had happened before only was due to the hobbit’s confusion, the pain he had felt, the sudden need to know that someone was there to take care of him. But all his anxieties vanished as Bilbo caressed his face in turn. At first, it was only the feather-light touch of fingertips, as if the hobbit was afraid that even the slightest pressure could make him disappear like a soap bubble. But after this moment of hesitation, he gently laid his palms on Thorin’s cheeks, and his thumbs stroked over his skin adoringly.

Thorin’s lips moved further down, and Bilbo’s fingers guided him downwards, and together they advanced, to the spot between Bilbo’s brows, along the bridge of his nose, until Thorin’s lips reached where they both wanted them to be, and he kissed Bilbo.

Bilbo’s lips were a bit chapped, and yet they were so soft and sweet that Thorin felt like melting away. The way Bilbo pressed his mouth against his, how he kept stroking his face, how he uttered a little sigh … All that made him realize: The caresses before hadn’t been born out of confusion, but were made by choice. Their origin hadn’t been pain, but affection. It hadn’t been the sudden need to know that someone was there. It had been – _was_ – about him, Thorin, being there.

The realization that Bilbo, his neighbour who had helped him so much, who made every day in this self-chosen exile a bright one, returned his feelings made Thorin’s heart overflow with relief, with gratitude, with happiness, with … There was a true whirlwind of emotions within him, and it was threatening to overwhelm him. In fact, it did: All those feelings broke through with a choked sound, almost a sob. It startled Bilbo and made him break away, although he still cupped Thorin’s face. He looked up at him, his endearing face clouded by concern.

Thorin quickly showed him a smile, and he was amazed by how easy it was to smile that brightly. “Merry Christmas, Bilbo”, he said.

He wrapped his arms around the hobbit’s waist and lifted him off the armchair. Bilbo gave a squeak and quickly slid his arms around Thorin’s neck while the dwarf carried him to the sofa. It was only a few steps, but Thorin almost stumbled as Bilbo suddenly pressed a fervid kiss to his throat. They managed without further accidents, though, and were soon seated on the sofa, Thorin leaning back into a pillow, and Bilbo snuggling up to him, his curly head resting on the dwarf’s broad chest.

“You know that we stood under the mistletoe twice?”, he asked merrily and pointed to the doorframe. Thorin noticed the mistletoe that was attached to it. “So”, he asked, “do I have to carry you through the door every time I want to kiss you?”

“I would appreciate it”, the hobbit answered gravely, yet with a twinkle in his eyes.

With a smile, Thorin lifted Bilbo’s chin to kiss him.

 “Merry Christmas, Thorin”, Bilbo breathed happily against Thorin’s lips.

 _It is. What a pity that it will be over soon. But,_ Thorin thought as he nuzzled Bilbo’s curls, _tomorrow might get even better._

Because tomorrow, he would see the oak leaf around Bilbo’s neck.


End file.
